Dr. Bolte Taylor had a stroke that was very similar to the one I experienced, but there are also differences in some details.

One difference is that she recalls the details of what was happening around her and her thoughts while she was experiencing the stroke. She can recall and describe what she went through, and she provides it from the standpoint of a neuro specialist.

Her explanation contained the details of what happened as only someone with medical/clinical experience can, but I won’t go into any of the details.

Let me just say I thought it was interesting.

She described an experience that seemed mystical in some regards, and listed some of her awareness and epiphanies during the whole thing.

Some of her thoughts after she arrived at the hospital and had to deal with the staff there:

Another difference between her experience and mine, was that I don’t remember a single thing about what happened. I later was told I could communicate, ask and answer questions, but all I remember is waking up one day in the hospital wondering, What the…?

I only remember a weird kind of really scary vertigo, probably the day before the stroke actually happened.

This is just one difference in our experiences that tells me that just as no traumatic brain injuries are alike, no two strokes seem to be alike either. It depends on some things like which area(s) of the brain are affected, just like any other traumatic brain injury.

Immediately after her stroke she had trouble speaking, reading, eating, and relating an object with the word for that object. I didn’t have any trouble with these activities, but I did have some difficulty with speech. Although I could speak, I couldn’t do it with any of my previous force or volume; I couldn’t speak much above a whisper. It took several months for me to regain my smooth, rich baritone voice quality.

Although she has recovered—her stroke happened in December of 1996 and her book was published ten years later—I am still recovering from my stroke in 2016.

One big thing we both have in common is realizing the power of our minds.

She told herself early on, in her words: “I never entertained the possibility that I was orchestrating my rescue so that I would live out the rest of my days completely disabled.”

This thought occurred after she realized she’d had a stroke and was admitted to the hospital. I decided much the same thing during my hospitalization.

Both of us also are determined not to feel sorry for ourselves or wallow in self-pity; we are stroke survivors, not stroke victims, a very important and powerful distinction.

She closed her book with 40 tips for recovery, but most of those tips seem geared more for family, friends and caregivers. Many of her points I’ve written about before; I’ve listed some below that I haven’t dealt with much in my own writing.

Tips for recovery:

Make eye contact with me. I am in here—come find me.

Encourage me.

Trust that I am trying—just not with your skill level or on your schedule.

Again, this is just a broad overview of her book. A complete accounting of the thoughts, experiences and ideas expressed there would be almost as long as the book itself.

I felt a great sense of optimism and empowerment reading Dr. Bolte Taylor’s book and highly recommend it, both for survivors of stroke or other kind of TBI, as well as for caregivers.

I feel empowered enough that maybe some day I will try to write a book of my own.

For more information on Jill Bolte Taylor and her journey, please click here.

Isaac Peterson performing. (courtesy photo).

Isaac Peterson grew up on an Air Force base near Cheyenne, Wyoming. After graduating from the University of Wyoming, he embarked on a career as an award-winning investigative journalist and as a semi-professional musician in the Twin Cities, the place he called home on and off for 35 years. He also doesn’t mind it at all if someone offers to pick up his restaurant tab. Peterson also welcomes reader comments. Email him at isaac3rd@gmail.com.

Before I received the gift of a traumatic brain injury (TBI), I really didn’t know what one was. Sure, I was familiar with the term, but after my stroke, I was surprised to learn that I had one. The constant dizziness, lack of balance, fatigue, the weakness in my limbs, alternating bouts of insomnia and super drowsiness, and other things; what was that about?

Since it looked like my life had turned upside down and sideways, I figured I’d better learn what had really happened and what I was in for in the immediate future.

After that it took me a while to realize that the people around me were still where I had been before my TBI and didn’t really understand what a TBI is and what it does to survivors. I also came to understand that as well-meaning as they might be, they would never fully understand until they had my hands on experience.

Family, friends, caregivers: where could they get the knowledge and understanding to help a TBI survivor cope with their new reality, and learn to cope themselves?

I desperately wanted the people in my life to know and understand what was going on with me.

I’ve seen websites that offer advice, but most seem to come down to this: be patient. The sites I’d seen didn’t offer much in the way of explaining what others need to know that will actually help others be patient. Patience is good; I know we can be a real handful at times. It must be pretty hard sometimes not to feel angry or frustrated.

Two years ago, on November 8, 2016, was the day I had a major stroke, and if I have anything to say about it, it will be the only one. I simply don’t have time for another one. I still have too many things to and too many goals to accomplish.

Let me take a quick inventory here of what’s happened with me since last November 6th.

Apart from my doctors tell me my overall health is good, my blood pressure is completely stabilized and not likely to cause another stroke any time soon. Of course, I still live with the effects of the traumatic brain injury (TBI), but as they say, at least I have my health.

To me, the rest is icing on the cake.

But before I get to the icing part….

I recently was able to fill in some of the blanks about what happened between the last thing I remember and when I woke up in the hospital, things I’ve always wondered about. A few days ago, I finally got around to asking my housemate in St. Paul, Minnesota, at the time, Tim Ellis, about what happened that day.

Tim tells me he discovered me during the day. He noticed I hadn’t been acting the way he was used to me acting; I hadn’t come up from the basement where I stayed for anything and there was no sign I was even in the house. Tim hadn’t seen or heard me and started to wonder.

He decided to yell down the stairs to check. Tim says I came up the stairs, but I was unsteady and out of it. He asked if I’d been drinking and I said I hadn’t, so he knew something was very wrong and called an ambulance.

I don’t remember any of it.

I was out of it for upwards of three days, Tim said. He had kept in touch with the hospital by phone and came to look in on me for himself, but I don’t remember it. He had looked through my Rolodex and managed to find my sister’s phone number here in Tacoma, Washington. He called to let her know what had happened. My honorary daughter had joined with my sister and done something else that was cool and helpful: between the two of them they had somehow gotten out the word to all my Facebook friends. And those people got busy—I had a flood of phone calls from friends of mine everywhere, so many that hospital staff just left the phone in my room.

I got enough cards and letters to open my own store, and more gifts than I knew what to do with. I had just had a major stroke but all I could think about was how lucky I was to have so many people in my life who cared.

The doctors told me I was going to be low functioning and basically helpless and dependent, but I think they were giving me a standard prognosis for people who experience a stroke of the type and severity of the one I had. I exceeded those expectations, but then I’ve never been a conformist. Now, my regular doctors tell me my stubbornness was key to my recovery.

After my discharge and forced relocation to Tacoma, I spoke with Tim. I remember thanking him for saving my life. He refused to believe he had saved my life and tried to downplay it.

But even if he didn’t save my life, he prevented me from laying there and continuing to bleed into my brain. If the bleeding had not been stopped, the pressure would have continued to build in my brain and if that hadn’t resulted in my demise, I would have been left with more severe damage than I ended up having.

So, Tim, let me say before the world, that if you hadn’t been such a caring friend, I likely would either not be here to write this or not be able to write at all.

If I ever have any children, I will name the firstborn Timothy, even if it’s a girl.

Now for the icing….

In the past year, I encountered a dear lady who is a member of a state agency called the TBI Council. It reports to the governor and recommends solutions to TBI-related issues. Her function on the council is legislative outreach. She asked me whether I would like to join her in lobbying state legislators on state funding for TBI issues and I accepted.

We are a great team and can practically finish each other’s sentences. The legislature is currently on break, but when it reconvenes, we will be there again lobbying.

Another cool thing was being invited to join another statewide committee affiliated with Washington State’s social and health agency. We try to help recipients of public benefits to resolve issues with their services and make recommendations for improvements in the state system. It’s statewide and I was surprised to learn I’m the only representative from Tacoma.

My lifelong friend Ray Watson tells me that while I was still hospitalized, I was already talking about using my experience to help survivors cope and advocate for TBI survivors. I really had no idea how I could go about that but here I am, doing just that.

My future’s so bright it hurts my eyes sometimes.

Isaac Peterson performing. (courtesy photo).

Isaac Peterson grew up on an Air Force base near Cheyenne, Wyoming. After graduating from the University of Wyoming, he embarked on a career as an award-winning investigative journalist and as a semi-professional musician in the Twin Cities, the place he called home on and off for 35 years. He also doesn’t mind it at all if someone offers to pick up his restaurant tab. Peterson also welcomes reader comments. Email him at isaac3rd@gmail.com.

In the last year and a half, I’ve discovered a couple of valuable relationships I’d been missing out on before my traumatic brain injury (TBI): a primary care doctor and a caregiver.

I never had those relationships because I did the most boneheaded thing I’ve ever done: I didn’t see a doctor for years. If I had gone, I probably wouldn’t have had a stroke and wouldn’t be doing this blog chronicling my new life with a TBI.

So here we are, with me writing about the value of of a good doctor and a good caregiver. I was lucky enough to stumble upon both a great primary care doctor and a great caregiver, so I can’t really offer much advice on how to find either; all I can really do is to tell you how I found my own doctor and caregiver.

Here’s how that happened.

After my stroke, I was forced to relocate from St. Paul, Minnesota to Tacoma, Washington; one of the first things I did was register with a social services agency. They required that I have a physical evaluation and referred me to a medical clinic that was on their approved list.

I went from there to the clinic, not knowing what to expect since I hadn’t seen a doctor in ages, and really not looking forward to finding out.

After a long wait I was seen by Dr. Louis Enkema, a genuinely kind man. We hit it off instantly. I was pleasantly surprised that he spent time talking to me as a person, and not as if I was an experimental lab rat. Over the years, I had heard from people whose doctors were cold and impersonal; this was not the case with Dr. Enkema.

At the appointment, Dr. Enkema gave me a pretty thorough physical exam: X-rays, heart and lungs, hearing–the full monty. And every step of the way he made sure I knew what was going on and asked me questions to make sure I did. We had a fantastic conversation where he asked me questions about myself and my life. He took the time to really get to know me, and he told me about his personal life in turn.

Dr. Enkema made a sincere effort to get to know and understand me.

I knew right away that he was going to be my regular doctor and I was going to see him every chance I got. In the months since, he has welcomed me to come in and talk any time, not just when I have something scheduled with him. He always makes me feel like he’s more than my primary care doctor; he’s also my friend, and he places a high value on my well being. He is always positive, always upbeat, and very supportive. He’s always willing to give me good answers to my questions and encourages me to ask them. I’ve written before that my doctor is fully supportive of my self-care efforts; Dr. Enkema was that doctor.

My only criticism is that he doesn’t have a jar of lollipops in the office.

The other stroke of good luck I had was that my dear old college friend Nancy lives in Tacoma. We had been in and out of touch over the years, and it took me a few days to realize we were now in the same city. I had her number in my phone, called her and found she didn’t live very far away from where I was.

It turned out Nancy had acquired lots of medical knowledge over the years and named herself, my medical adviser.

I call her my dear friend and my caregiver.

I met Dr. Enkema and reconnected with Nancy in the span of a few short days.

Nancy has driven me to my medical appointments as well as sat in during visits with Dr. Enkema. Nancy’s made valuable recommendations about my diet, tells me things about my prescriptions, and generally keeps me on the straight and narrow. Although we don’t live together, she’s always there when I need something I can’t do for myself.

While I can’t give advice on how to find a good doctor or caregiver as good as the ones I have, I can suggest some qualities to look for based on the strengths Dr. Enkema and Nancy share.

I think a good doctor and caregiver should:

These are qualities apart from medical knowledge and competence. Sure, you want them to know what they’re doing, but try if you can to get the full package.

I think you can get caregivers through state agencies that are trained and certified. Before you commit to one, I’d say try to meet with them first, explain what you are looking for and see how well you hit it off.

Try to interview your prospective caregiver.

From what I understand, it might be possible to go through the same preliminary process with a doctor as well.

Or you can do what I did, and just be incredibly lucky.

Isaac Peterson performing. (courtesy photo).

Isaac Peterson grew up on an Air Force base near Cheyenne, Wyoming. After graduating from the University of Wyoming, he embarked on a career as an award-winning investigative journalist and as a semi-professional musician in the Twin Cities, the place he called home on and off for 35 years. He also doesn’t mind it at all if someone offers to pick up his restaurant tab. Peterson also welcomes reader comments. Email him at isaac3rd@gmail.com.

(Editor’s Note: Writer Isaac Peterson has shared his journey forward after having a stroke in November 2016 on this blog. Today, he shares his personal self-care strategies, that are not only beneficial for fellow survivors, but are terrific tips for everyone and anyone. Enjoy! K.T.)

I won’t talk about what other sources have to say, since I don’t know what others are saying. But I can and will talk here about my take on self-care. I’ll do it in bullet points to make it a little easier to read. And keep in mind that since all this is from my experience and no two brain injuries are the same, what’s worked for me may not apply to you. You can skip over those; I won’t mind. If you see something that might work for you, feel free to use it yourself; I won’t mind that either.

To thy own self be true and know thyself

A good starting point for me was with the old sayings, to thine own self be true and know thyself, which I think are self- explanatory. Shakespeare wrote the first and Socrates the second. I’m not going to argue with those guys since they were obviously much smarter than me. I’m not as good a writer either, since I doubt anyone centuries from now will care about what some schmoe wrote on the internet once. But I do know that their advice was a good place for me to start when I needed to start taking care of myself, and I hope my words will have some value here, in the present.

It’s good to know where you are now, because how can you figure out how to get where you need to be if you don’t know where you are now? Self-knowledge is invaluable to taking care of yourself and charting your own course. If you don’t care about yourself, how can you expect anyone else to care?

After my stroke it was clear that I wasn’t quite who I’d been before; so, it was obvious to me that I needed to learn who and what I am right now. Putting myself in various situations, some against the advice of the experts, was something I felt I had to do. I wanted to explore the limits of my capabilities–my strengths and weaknesses and work from there. I learned a lot about me and what I’m made of doing that. I became the world’s leading expert on the subject (in fact, I’m the only expert in that field).

Following are a few of the most important things I do to take care of myself.

Don’t stop seeing your doctor

Although I do indulge in self-care, I do still see my doctor regularly. If I tried to go completely cold turkey and insist on doing it all myself, I would have a knucklehead for a doctor. My doctor can see the progress I’m making and encourages me to keep doing what I’m doing. He’s a good guy and I like seeing him (what I don’t like are the occasional blood tests. If I had a choice between getting needles in my arm or drinking a mayonnaise milkshake, I’d go with the mayonnaise shake).

I can’t do the tests myself; I go because I want to be healthy and the blood tests can let me know if there is some hidden condition I ought to know about. I’m still waiting for the nurse to give me a lollipop for being such a brave lad, though.

I would hope you don’t do what I did before my stroke, when I went through a lot of years without seeing a doctor because I felt good all the time. If I had gone, my undiagnosed hypertension would have been noticed and treated. I wouldn’t have had the stroke I write about all the time.

That wasn’t self-care, it was self-neglect, and it almost cost me everything.

Exercise

Although I’ve had people tell me I shouldn’t be out walking, I go out and walk. I think walking every day is good for my body, especially my heart and circulatory system.

I think it’s a good idea to also exercise my mind as well, to give my brain a workout and keep it well-oiled. I read all the time, and I do it every day. I’m really into words, and I don’t think it’s a bad idea to learn new words. If I run into a word and I don’t know what it means, I will look it up. I do other things as well, besides reading every day, like when I’m out walking, I play word games in my head. One of my favorite head games is taking a word and rearranging the letters to see how many words I can come up with from the letters in that word. I know it sounds goofy, but I think it’s a good way to exercise my mind, and I’ve had a lifelong love affair with words.

Positive attitude

A positive attitude is important. A can-do attitude is a part of my self-care program. But I keep it realistic–as much as I want to fly, I will never be able to fly, no matter how hard I try to flap my arms. Find out what you can do and work from there. Be aware of both your strengths and your limitations.

At least that’s what I do, and it seems to work for me.

Set goals for yourself, but don’t expect miracles overnight; I don’t think there is such a thing with a TBI. I find that setting yourself up to experience a series of small victories will go a long way toward keeping a positive attitude. For myself, my nerves are still somewhat out of whack and I don’t walk as well as I did before my injury and I get tired much quicker than I used to. However, I started walking as much as I could, and gradually increasing both the time and distance I am out. Every little increase I have been able to handle is a small victory–not a break out the champagne kind of victory, but it does help me feel like I accomplished something and makes me want to keep doing it.

Meditation and positive mental imagery can be quite helpful in keeping a positive attitude, and I use them.

And this is extremely important–if you fall short of your goal, don’t dwell on it. Just always do the best you can, and if you don’t quite get it done today, there’s always tomorrow. If you’re constantly not meeting your own goals or expectations, don’t feel like there’s something wrong with you; just revising your goal and starting over never hurts.

The important thing is to keep trying.

Give yourself a balance between exercise and resting

Don’t feel like you always need to do something physical. Watching TV, playing board games with friends, or any passive activity that gives you pleasure and relaxation are important things to do to keep yourself in balance. Do it every day, or whenever you need or want to. Just don’t forget to get some physical exercise as well. You can reward yourself after you are finished exercising. Just don’t forget have fun whenever you have a chance.

Diet and Hydration

A healthier diet is a good, positive thing. I would recommend what’s known now as a heart healthy diet. It can help your overall wellness, not just your heart. Give your TBI healthier grounds to help it get better.

I hear the advice stay hydrated so much it almost feels like a cliché. What I don’t hear much about is how to stay hydrated, so awhile back I decided to find out.

The traditional advice is to drink eight glasses of water every day. But somebody finally realized that more specific information was needed. One important thing is that eight glasses is kind of vague, because people have and use different size glasses. While eight glasses are enough for some people, it may be too little for some, and too much for others.

The standard has been revised to make it more specific, since there isn’t a one size fits all way to keep hydrated. It seems that a good way to figure out how much water to drink in a day that will work for in your own case is to drink one ounce of water for each pound of weight.

I’ll use myself as an example. Since I weigh about 180 pounds, I would need to drink 180 ounces of water a day. I found out that my water bottle holds 30 ounces, so I would need to drink six full bottles of water during the time I’m awake to stay hydrated. There are also other sources of water to consider. There is water in fruits and vegetables as well as in fruit juices.

Keep in mind that alcohol won’t go far to keep you hydrated; alcohol has a dehydrating effect, from what I understand.

In everything I learned, staying hydrated will help make your body work better overall and you’ll feel better.

Social supports: friends, family, support groups

Having a TBI doesn’t have to mean you drop out of society. Human contact is vital for your emotional and mental well-being. Any type of social support goes a long way.

I think spending time with family and friends are obvious; but support groups can be important and useful as well. Support groups give you an environment where there are people going through their own version of what you’re going through. You can interact with all sorts of people, get good advice about different coping methods or programs, and make new friends, the kinds of friends who can really relate to what you’re going through.

You also may find the world is not as small as it might feel sometimes.

Those are some of the things I do, but I urge you to design your own self-care program. The benefits of doing so will help you know yourself better and be your own best friend.

Isaac Peterson performing. (courtesy photo).

Isaac Peterson grew up on an Air Force base near Cheyenne, Wyoming. After graduating from the University of Wyoming, he embarked on a career as an award-winning investigative journalist and as a semi-professional musician in the Twin Cities, the place he called home on and off for 35 years. He also doesn’t mind it at all if someone offers to pick up his restaurant tab. Peterson also welcomes reader comments. Email him at isaac3rd@gmail.com.

I have been doing quite a bit of contemplation recently. I think it’s a combination of circumstances.

We moved home in October last year and are just loving where we live. A very quiet spot, fabulous neighbors, surrounded by nature in beautiful countryside with gorgeous fresh air on the edge of a wonderful small town. We have seen in our garden (at various times) rabbits, hares, ducks and all manner of small birds. We’re told there are also deer, foxes and badgers. We see Red Kites flying overhead, we hear Tawny Owls hooting in the evening and, about 500 yards from our front door, is the confluence (meeting) of two rivers – the Teviot and the Tweed, world renowned for salmon fishing, where there are ospreys and herons.

We’ve just had our garage converted into a music studio so that I can finish my CD charity fundraising project and I’m currently getting all my gear
out of storage and then attempting to cable it all together and get it working. (It’s excellent physiotherapy and also very challenging for the brain!).

Additionally, I celebrated my 60th birthday in April and the 5th anniversary of my brain injury (stroke) at the end of May. So, it’s fair to say I am really appreciating life – my new life – and also appreciating the person that I’ve become since my stroke.

Yes, appreciating the person that I’ve become since my stroke.

Hmm – what does that mean?

Before my brain injury my life was very full on. When I worked in the corporate world, I held senior positions and traveled the world. Life was offices, hotels, airports and taxis. I didn’t see much of my two sons when they were small and I lost contact with my friends (this was before social media). It was work, work, work.

My passion in life was music and I decided I wanted to get out of the
corporate rat-race and became a professional musician, a drummer. So, I did (although the transition was a lot harder to achieve than I thought). For work I gave private drum lessons, taught drums in schools and played in wedding/function bands, as well as depping (deputising) for other drummers when they weren’t available for their bands. For pleasure, I played music I liked and that was a bit more challenging, like in a Pink Floyd tribute band or in a progressive rock band.

However, this was still very full on – my income was considerably reduced and I was working all day and often not getting home until late. (I remember driving home once and seeing a gorgeous sunset, only to then realize it was actually a sunrise!).

In terms of my character, it’s fair to say I was anxious and stressed most of the time, but I bottled it all up and didn’t show this externally. I now know I was a ticking time bomb.

So, back to appreciating the person that I’ve become since my stroke. I remember being in the neurosurgery ward in hospital several days after my stroke and maybe a day or two after emergency brain surgery had saved my life, thinking, Well, I’ll be back at work soon. Teaching will be OK, gigging might take a bit longer.

I had NO IDEA what had happened and how serious it all was. I reverted to default Andy mode – I’m OK, I’m fine, nothing to see here, move along.

This default Andy mode continued for some time. For example, picture this – just eight months after my brain injury, I auditioned for a band. The genre of the music was progressive rock, so it was reasonably complex music with some of it being quite technically challenging.

Now, imagine you are in said band and you know a potential new drummer is coming along to audition. He arrives in a car driven by his wife because he can’t drive. He can’t drive because he has double vision and has two
corrective plastic prisms stuck on his spectacles so, for him, it’s as if someone has smeared Vaseline over his glasses. For you, it’s as if The Fly has come to join your band as the drummer.

He walks with a stick, is stooped, sways around like a palm tree in a hurricane and is very wobbly on his legs.

You help his wife unload a multitude of drums, cymbals and stands from their car whilst he sits in the corner looking like he’s about to collapse, and you then watch as his wife sets up his drum kit under his supervision. This guy could be our new drummer?

I had explained to them about my stroke and they were very understanding, but, honestly, what was I thinking?

Needless to say, I didn’t play very well, I couldn’t keep time and I spent the next week in bed recovering from the exertion.

Still, I tried.

Eventually, over several years, the original default Andy mode was adapted, altered and shaped into a new default Andy mode, to the extent that my wife now refers to me as, The Upgrade.

So, what has changed?

In simple terms, I have slowed down. Now, that’s mainly because I’m unable to cavort around like I did before my stroke. I suffer badly from neuro-fatigue, so I have to nibble away at tasks in small chunks. As an example, these blogs are written at multiple sittings of about 20 to 30 minutes each.

So, I have been forced (very reluctantly and with much resistance) into doing things slowly, sometimes painstakingly so. However, this has provided me with the time to appreciate things which I would never have done pre-stroke.

For example, nature. The dawn chorus of birdsong used to really annoy me. What a racket! Why don’t they shut up and let me sleep? Now, I think it’s the most beautiful, joyous noise I have ever heard. This 180 is purely because I now have nowhere to be; I don’t clock-watch; I don’t have a timetable; I can simply be in the moment and enjoy what’s going on around me. It’s a revelation.

In the evenings, I lie in bed and listen as the birdsong recedes and the owls start to hoot. Glorious. I now sit in the garden with a cup of tea and
just watch nature performing all around me – bees pollinating flowers, spiders spinning their webs, young birds being fed by their parents as they learn to fly, a young rabbit feeding on buttercups.

My children think I’ve gone mad. I see them hurtling through their lives at 100 miles per hour and try to persuade them to slow down but to no avail. You can’t put an old head on young shoulders. Of course, all this has been forced on me. I don’t think I’d have chosen to do it if you asked me, say, six years ago.

However, I’m now at the stage whereby, if the technology existed to restore me to my pre-upgrade self and I was offered my old life back, I wouldn’t take it.

Don’t get me wrong, it would be great to get out playing drums and doing things again, but….

There is also a whole load of negative stuff that would also come with that life and I would not want that back. It nearly killed me. I can see now that, pre-stroke, the negatives outweighed the positives. But I didn’t know that then, I had no perspective. However, post-stroke, now that I have had five years of grieving for my old self, coping with the new me, working out who I am now, adapting to my limitations and settling into a new way of being, I can see that there are far more positives than negatives.

It took me some time to be able to see that, some time for my eyes to adjust to the new light, some time for my brain to accept my new reality and to learn a whole new way of living, but I believe that it’s a better life for me. Slower, calmer and more meaningful.

I feel I have very literally woken up and am now smelling the coffee. And it smells great!

Take care everyone, and thanks for reading my blog from Scotland!

Andy

About Andy: On May 28 2013, Andy was struck down by an ischemic cerebellar stroke. He developed complications and two days later underwent emergency brain surgery to decompress his skull due to hydrocephalus. He almost died and has five missing days of which he has no memory of whatsoever. Prior to his brain attack, Andy was a professional musician, a drummer, and earned his living both as a player and teacher. He has been unable to return to work but is writing a CD of music inspired by his stroke story in order to raise awareness of stroke, particularly among younger people. As fellow brain injury survivors will understand, work is progressing at a snail’s pace! This project will also raise funds for the charity, Different Strokes. Please visit www.brainattackmusic.com to read more and to listen to some demo tracks. Andy lives with his wife in the beautiful Scottish Borders, very close to where the River Teviot meets the world famous River Tweed and has two sons, a stepson and stepdaughter, all of whom have flown the nest and are making their own way in life. As well as a deep love of all types of music, Andy enjoys watching sport, reading about history, learning about the brain and enjoying the peace and calm of the Scottish countryside.

In his wonderful book, Stronger After Stroke, Peter Levine says that, in his experience, the brain injury survivors that make the best recovery are athletes and musicians. The reason? Because they are used to doing, boring, repetitive’ tasks over and over again, measuring their slow, incremental progress. And this is what recovery is. Lots of boring, repetitive tasks with slow, incremental progress. If you’re re-learning how to walk with incredibly bad balance, or re-learning how to grip something with your affected limbs, your mobility isn’t going to come back in a week or two, is it? No, it’s going to take time and effort. A huge amount of time and an incredible amount of effort. But, as Louis Armstrong once said about playing the trumpet, What you put in, is what you get out.

Before my stroke I was a drummer. So, my hours/days/weeks/years spent learning the Drum Rudiments (lots of boring, repetitive stickings, gradually building up speed, stamina and strength) has paid dividends for my stroke recovery. The Drum Rudiments are the drumming equivalent of scales for a tuned instrument. Originally, there were 26 drum rudiments so imagine them as the 26 letters of the alphabet. You have to learn all the letters first, and then how to arrange them in different sequences to create words and, in turn, whole sentences. Same with the ‘Drum Rudiments’. They are basically combinations of single strokes and double strokes (mainly). As an example, using R for the right hand and L for the left, something called a Single Paradiddle, would be RLRRLRLL, played evenly on a 1-2-3-4 count, and then faster and faster until it becomes a roll. And that’s just 1 out of 26.

As I say, lots of repetitive, boring tasks – just like recovery!

I thought about all this repetition and effort a great deal when resolutely following the various physiotherapy programs I was given. Just how much physiotherapy do you need in order to reach a level where you consider yourself a functioning human being? And how long will this take? (I see these type of questions often on Facebook brain injury survivors groups).

To answer these questions is highly subjective, of course. The level of mobility that I would like to achieve is different to others, as theirs is to mine. As a musician and drummer, I would probably like more coordination and fine muscle movement in my hands that the average person. (Contrary to popular belief, drumming is all about dexterity and strength in fingers and wrists, NOT in the arms). My days of playing sport are well behind me, so I don’t have the need to be able to run. However, a younger person than I might have a bigger desire to be able to run and so their objectives behind their recovery are different to mine.

So, how much practice do we need for our recovery?

Have you heard of the 10,000-Hour Rule? In his book Outliers, author Malcolm Gladwell posits that in order to become world class at something, requires 10,000 hours of deliberate practice. (Meaning that a structured practice, or training regime, is followed).

So, let’s apply the 10,000-Hour Rule to brain injury recovery. Us survivors have brain damage, so our usual neural pathways have probably been disrupted or permanently damaged. We need to retrain the brain to create new neural pathways (neuroplasticity) and, when we accept this, the enormity of the task ahead becomes clear.

I’m not suggesting that we want to become world class at any activity, just that to get to a reasonable standard (at anything) requires a great deal of effort over a prolonged period of time. To put this in to perspective, if we assume a normal working week of 38 hours, and a normal working year to comprise of 48 working weeks (i.e. allowing for 4 weeks holiday each year), then 10,000 hours amounts to a full-time job for over FIVE YEARS! Which is really what recovery is – it’s a full-time job – but very few of us can devote 38 hours a week to the task, mainly due to the limitations we have post-brain injury. (As an example, I reckon my average is around 5 hours a week. I’d love to devote more, but my fatigue levels just won’t let me). A toddler learning to walk and then run with a good degree of ability takes years to do so and a lot of practice. Recovery is no different.

Looking at it another way, if this recovery thing was a hobby, and we could spend 10 hours each week practicing, then 10,000 hours now becomes just over 19 years. Of course this is, in theory, to become world class. But I think it is fair to say that if we apply these numbers to recovery for brain injury survivors, then we are talking about many, many years of effort and practice to try to regain mobility and function. Day in, day out. Week in, week out. (And there are no guarantees, of course). I would also suggest that it never ends.

It’s ongoing.

As I mentioned earlier, the key to all this is neuroplasticity – the ability of the brain to generate new neural pathways. Athletes and musicians often refer to muscle memory. This is wrong. There is no such thing – muscles do not have any memory. What’s happening is that the activity being learnt is firing off neurons in the brain, and the brain is finding the most efficient route for those signals to pass through. By repeating the activity incessantly, we are burning these neural pathways (the routes) on to our hard drive, so to speak. With enough practice the activity becomes automatic. But it’s the brain’s memory, not the muscles. The muscles will become stronger and more conditioned, but they have no actual memory.

My simple message, then, to fellow brain injury survivors, is that you really have to put a lot of work in over a very long period of time before you start to see improvements. (And, I have found, if you ease off what you are doing at any point you will slip back, so you have to keep putting the work in to maintain mobility).

Treat recovery as a job. It’s your life you’re trying to reclaim. So, not a bad job to have, is it? Even if it is unpaid!

So, 10,000 hours. Five years of full-time work, or nineteen years of hobby time. A sobering thought, isn’t it? In a world of instant gratification (download this song in a few seconds, order online today for delivery tomorrow, want it-buy it-got it), the idea of working towards very long-term goals – and the amount of effort required – can be hard to grasp.

Isn’t there a pill I can take and just be better?

It’s hard work and there are no short cuts. My final message to survivors out there – use it, or lose it!

Take care everyone, and thanks for reading my blog from Scotland!

Andy

About Andy: On May 28 2013, Andy was struck down by an ischemic cerebellar stroke. He developed complications and two days later underwent emergency brain surgery to decompress his skull due to hydrocephalus. He almost died and has five missing days of which he has no memory of whatsoever. Prior to his brain attack, Andy was a professional musician, a drummer, and earned his living both as a player and teacher. He has been unable to return to work but is writing a CD of music inspired by his stroke story in order to raise awareness of stroke, particularly among younger people. As fellow brain injury survivors will understand, work is progressing at a snail’s pace! This project will also raise funds for the charity, Different Strokes. Please visit www.brainattackmusic.com to read more and to listen to some demo tracks. Andy lives with his wife in the beautiful Scottish Borders, very close to where the River Teviot meets the world famous River Tweed and has two sons, a stepson and stepdaughter, all of whom have flown the nest and are making their own way in life. As well as a deep love of all types of music, Andy enjoys watching sport, reading about history, learning about the brain and enjoying the peace and calm of the Scottish countryside.

His honest, powerful, positive and empowered personal essays have been a key driver in getting awareness and education about stroke into the public eye.

Besides Andy’s writing, he is an accomplished musician who is using his time and talents to share stroke awareness and his own personal journey forward in this art form as well.

Andy has been a guest blogger for BEST, and his writing has been enjoyed and shared by the BEST community. We are so fortunate to have Andy on our writing team and so appreciate his valuable contributions he makes to the brain injury community, near and far, each and every day!

Many thanks to Andy for all of his support of the brain injury community!

Know a special real-life superhero in the brain injury community? We’d love to hear about them. Click here to learn more and nominate someone today!

Okay, everybody. I’m back now from taking a break and giving my brain a chance to cool down a bit.

You might remember that last time, I described a regional TBI conference I attended, and that after hearing others describe their life’s experiences and challenges, I came to some realizations.This article is about three of those realizations. But before I tell you about them, let me give you some background.

I’ve written about the stroke I experienced in November of 2016. It was a major stroke, a very serious one (although I must confess I’ve never heard of a funny stroke). I apparently was in a coma for a while, and spent a month in the hospital in the acute care section. But I didn’t feel like I was stuck in there; rather, I felt like everybody else was stuck in there with me. I’ve always been kind of contrary like that.

I started planning my recovery while I was confined to that bed. I knew I was going to get much better; I HAD to get much better, because the alternative was never something I was ever able or willing to entertain, even for a minute.

Based on the severity of my stroke, the doctors seemed to believe that my outlook when I was discharged was on the dismal side. But I never believed that, or bought into it. They told my sister that I would need 24-hour-a-day round the clock care, that I’d need to have someone around when I went to the bathroom or the shower, that I’d need a walker; those kinds of things. None of them reflected the reality I chose for myself.

Although I still have quite a way to go, the way I chose seems to have me on the mend quicker than many of the medical professionals anticipated. But I had a seizure a year after my stroke; I wrote about it here in this space, and the new heavy-duty medication I have to take.

Still with me? Good, because now I can finally get around to telling you about the realizations I had after that TBI conference.

After hearing speakers talking about having to put their world back together, having to relearn how to walk, talk, or even how to make toast, it occurred to me that I didn’t have to go through any of that. No, my challenge wasn’t in relearning how to do basic things; my challenge was in finding my place in the world with my brand-new traumatic brain injury. The world hadn’t changed; I had changed. No matter how much I work, I am never going to be the same man I was before my stroke.

That man is gone forever.

How liberating that thought was! Instead of dreading my new journey or pitying myself that I don’t have the stamina that I did before, issues with my balance, the strength in my legs and arms and other physical problems, as well as problems with focus and short term memory; those problems will get better over time.

I am absolutely positive of that.

While I go about reinventing myself, I realize that I have total control over what to carry over into my new life and what to leave behind in the old one. Reinventing Isaac Peterson is a work in progress, and soon the upgrade–Isaac Peterson 2.0 will be let loose on the world.

(Actually, I’m not sure about the numbering on that, since the first time I was Isaac Peterson III. Maybe the new guy who looks like me would be Isaac Peterson IV. For now, though, I think I’ll stick with Isaac 2.0, who will no doubt be better than the prototype and a better upgrade than Microsoft ever put out.)

My brain seems to have made it through the stroke pretty much, as well as my verbal skills–how cool is THAT? That’s a major link to the old guy, and since we share the same basic experiences, I can look back and avoid the mistakes he made, and make better, smarter choices this time. I can cultivate new skills and interests and work on eliminating some old character flaws with my new perspective on things.

The second realization is about the seizure I had last fall. It seems to me now that it may not have been just a seizure. Looking back, I can see some changes in me after the experience. Since then, I have moments of what seem to be brilliant clarity, and I often find myself thinking in a way I never did before the stroke. And my intuition seems to have been bumped up a notch in ways that are beyond my ability to express in words.

It seems that, in a real kind of way, that seizure was actually my brain rebooting itself and realigning itself. I mentioned this to my primary care doctor, and he didn’t think it sounded as weird as it felt saying it. I hope I can figure out one day exactly what happened, because honestly, it feels kind of cool sometimes.

And now for the last realization; sometimes when I tell this to someone, they look at me as if I had just announced that I had been sent here from the future to save mankind. But here it is: I’m glad I had a stroke. I’m lucky it happened.

For one thing, I found what kind of stuff I’m made of, and it looks like I’m made of some pretty tough stuff. There are people who don’t survive a stroke of the type and severity of the one I had. And among those who do survive, there are those who didn’t get to bring their full mental and language faculties with them, and others who have much more difficulty with their motor skills.

My stroke forced me to change my outlook in ways I mentioned above. I don’t view my future in bleak or depressing terms, and I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’ve certainly never pitied myself. My life is going in a direction I never foresaw when I was the old me.

I now have opportunities I never would have foreseen for myself. I’m already doing things I never imagined a year ago, and I know that next year I will be doing things I haven’t thought of yet, and pursuing opportunities that are still to come.

But before I go, let me make it clear that even though I feel lucky I had a stroke (or at least lucky to live through one), I sure don’t want to have another one. That much luck, I think, is more than enough for one lifetime.

But I feel absolutely convinced of one thing for sure: As I’ve said, my future will not be written for me; it will be written by me. My legs aren’t strong enough yet for me to run again, but my spirit and my will sure are. I’ve got another chance at this, and it’s entirely up to me what I do with it.

I’ll certainly be writing about the upcoming projects and opportunities I mentioned, as they happen. I hope you will all be here to witness the roll-out of Isaac 2.0. He is really going to be something awesome and worth the wait.

Isaac Peterson performing. (courtesy photo).

Isaac Peterson grew up on an Air Force base near Cheyenne, Wyoming. After graduating from the University of Wyoming, he embarked on a career as an award-winning investigative journalist and as a semi-professional musician in the Twin Cities, the place he called home on and off for 35 years. He also doesn’t mind it at all if someone offers to pick up his restaurant tab. Peterson also welcomes reader comments. Email him at isaac3rd@gmail.com.

Since my brain injury (stroke) nearly five years ago, I have become aware of the power of the mind and how what we think affects how we feel . This has been demonstrated to me fairly empirically. I shall explain. My wife has been extremely diligent in taking my blood pressure. After my stroke, I took part in research aiming to reduce the chance of further strokes. I was given a blood pressure monitor and told to take three sets of my blood pressure three times a day. The readings were sent via mobile data to the research team and my medications were adjusted accordingly.

My wife wouldn’t tell me the readings until they were all taken. On one occasion, she asked me what I had been thinking during the second reading. I told her I was worrying about our finances and my lack of income. She replied, “I could tell you were getting worked up about something as your blood pressure and pulse went up.”

Now, this has been repeated time and time again over the last five years. My wife can tell if I am worried or anxious about something just by my blood pressure taken. I have even tried meditating when she takes the readings (my blood pressure goes down) and also I’ve tried getting worked up (my blood pressure goes up).

I now look back at stressful periods in my life and genuinely wonder how I didn’t have a stroke sooner than I did. It has been empirically demonstrated to me that what we think has a direct effect on our blood pressure. Just to restate that, what we think affects our blood pressure.

Therefore, what we think affects our well-being. WOW. There is a connection between our state of mind and our body’s response. This is no different to auto-immune responses when we’re bitten by an insect or we run a fever. However, I can affect my blood pressure just by what I think?

All of this was a big factor in us moving from the busy, hectic south of England to the rural, calmer south of Scotland. Life is much more peaceful and slower paced up here. People have time to talk to you, they are more polite, more friendly, more caring and generally seem more happy. I certainly feel in a much better mental place than when I lived in the bustling south of England and I’m sure this is better for me physically, too. I’m just trying to minimize things that cause me stress and anxiety.

I read a report recently that said stroke is on the increase in younger people (and at a greater rate of increase in developing countries) and wondered how much of a factor stress and anxiety is in those statistics. If you look at this in evolutionary terms, modern man has been around for about 250,000 years (depending on which book you read, recent archaeology suggests this figure could be over 300,000 years). Up until a few thousand years ago, we were living life as hunter/gatherers. Only in recent times have we been living in towns and cities. If you come at this from the present and look back, the last 150 years has seen unparalleled changes. That’s just a handful of generations.

The first powered aircraft flight was the Wright Brothers in 1903. The first commercial jet airliner (something we take completely for granted in 2018) entered service in 1952, just 66 years ago. Not even 3 generations back. Heck, I was born 6 years after this! This rate of change is way faster than the rate at which we can adapt. What effect is this having on us?

And this rate of change is accelerating. My first PC was purchased about 26 years ago and had a 40 megabyte hard drive. It used both 3.5 inch and 5 inch floppy discs and the 3.5 inch floppies had a capacity of 1.44Mb. I have just purchased a 1Tb USB stick which broadly gives me storage about 700,000 times greater than a 3.5 inch floppy disc.

These last 150 years in evolutionary timescales are all but nothing. If we say modern man has been around for 250,000 years, then the last 100 to 150 years represents roughly 0.05% of that time frame. (This is roughly the same ratio as 40 seconds is to 24 hours). I would suggest that the rate of change in the world around us is much greater than any natural, biological change and so must place us under unnatural stress. Our ancestors had a natural ‘release’ from the stress in their world – they were very physically active living a typical hunter/gatherer lifestyle. There is no natural stress release when you are sitting behind a desk for eight hours a day, then in a car for an hour and then in front of the TV for three hours. And I find it fascinating that the rate of increase in stroke now is greater in developing countries than in developed ones. I would suggest that one factor could be because the rate of change for us humans is even greater in developing counties. I am struck by the number of images I see on the TV of people in developing countries who live in shanty towns without access to clean water and suffering from poor sanitation, disease, etc. However, many of them seem to have smart phones. Developed world norms can now just be inserted into developing world environments and not always for the better. I would have thought that clean water should take precedent over smart phones.

My wife’s grandmother was brought up in rural Ireland. As an adult in the 1960’s, she visited the big city (Dublin) for the first time in her life. (Dublin is actually a small city. Current population 1.5 million; contrast with Mexico City, 20 million, Tokyo, 37 million). She found it very confusing and completely disorientating and would get lost easily. Why? Because it all looked the same and there were no natural features (trees, bushes, hedgerows, hills, etc.) by which to navigate. She was in an alien environment and she found it very stressful.

So, if we can alter our blood pressure by what we think and we’re in an environment where we are feeling constant high levels of stress and anxiety, this isn’t going to be a good thing, is it? There is an old adage that says, We are what we think. I am starting to really buy in to this.

So, think good thoughts. Think happy thoughts. Think positive thoughts. And let any negative thoughts just float away on the breeze. Let them go. Because you are what you think. It therefore follows that you think what you are. And so, you are what you think you are. (You may need to re-read these last three sentences a few times. I know I did, and I wrote them).

Take care everyone, and thanks for reading my blog from Scotland!
Andy

About Andy: On May 28 2013, Andy was struck down by an ischemic cerebellar stroke. He developed complications and two days later underwent emergency brain surgery to decompress his skull due to hydrocephalus. He almost died and has five missing days of which he has no memory of whatsoever. Prior to his brain attack, Andy was a professional musician, a drummer, and earned his living both as a player and teacher. He has been unable to return to work but is writing a CD of music inspired by his stroke story in order to raise awareness of stroke, particularly among younger people. As fellow brain injury survivors will understand, work is progressing at a snail’s pace! This project will also raise funds for the charity, Different Strokes. Please visit www.brainattackmusic.com to read more and to listen to some demo tracks. Andy lives with his wife in the beautiful Scottish Borders, very close to where the River Teviot meets the world famous River Tweed and has two sons, a stepson and stepdaughter, all of whom have flown the nest and are making their own way in life. As well as a deep love of all types of music, Andy enjoys watching sport, reading about history, learning about the brain and enjoying the peace and calm of the Scottish countryside.